


paper rings

by lovelylogans



Series: the sideshire files [14]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Party, Underage Drinking, they're en-gay-ged, wyliwf!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelylogans/pseuds/lovelylogans
Summary: i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper ringsuh huh, that's right, darlingyou're the one I wanti hate accidents except when we went from friends to thisuh huh, darling, you're the one I wantor: virgil asks a question that's been a long time coming. turns out patton's been wanting to ask that question, too.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders
Series: the sideshire files [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1464067
Comments: 52
Kudos: 111





	paper rings

**Author's Note:**

> okay. so, SOMEHOW, it is the first anniversary of me uploading the first chapter of where you lead, i will follow!!!!! i remember where i was when i uploaded the first chapter; i was studying abroad, and i thought that i may as well keep on writing during the trip, since i _always_ keep writing, and this was the project i felt most passionate about, at the time. and now, a year later, the world certainly looks _very_ different, and my life does, too. but this project is still going. i love this little universe, so much, and i’m so happy and proud and grateful that all of you keep reading it, and you’re cheering these characters along right beside me. so, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so very much for reading. and happy birthday to this little universe.

patton’s been basically vibrating with excitement since monday, and now that it’s _actually_ friday michel’s banished him to his office because “your happiness is scaring the customers,” but patton can’t _help it!!!!_

it’s labor day weekend, starting today, which means at _any_ minute logan’s going to be coming into town, straight from yale, his first time being _home_ since he moved into his dorm about three weeks ago now, which means _logan’s gonna be home!!!!!!!!!!!_

he’s due back in town any minute!!!!!! he’s going to be here for about four days!!!!! _logan and roman are going to be in town for four! entire! days!_

sure, patton has seen him at friday night dinners, but that’s not the same as him being _home!_ patton can pester him about classes and how frequently he’s taking breaks and ask questions about how he’s settling in and any potential _new friends,_ because sure, he and janus are roommates, but patton wants to ask questions about his _other_ dorm roommates (suitemates? it’s technically suitemates, isn’t it?) because patton only got to see just a glimpse of them on move-in day, so he doesn’t really know much about _them,_ and—

and patton has a _lot_ of questions and a lot of things he wants to know, generally, and also, _logan’s going to be here!!!!!_

patton looks down at the paperwork on his desk, considering it.

yep. he cannot focus on this at all. it’s basically a lost workday, at this point. goodbye productivity, he hardly knew thee. it’s time to go and sneak downstairs under the guise of checking in on the guest’s dining room, but really to sneak a cup of coffee and maybe also a cookie.

he descends the stairs.

“no,” michel says, without looking up from the guestbook.

“i’m just checking on the dining room!” patton protests. “i’ll be out of your hair, in and out, you’ll barely even notice me.”

“too late,” michel says, then, “stop making that facial expression.”

“i’m _smiling,_ michel,” patton teases. “i’m _happy.”_

michel grumbles something in french, and patton’s about to ask what he’s saying, when he hears the door open. he swivels to see—

_logan._

he’s wearing the navy blue yale sweatshirt patton bought him when he made his college decision, part of the pack of “yay yale, go yale!” stuff patton had kind of went nuts on—he can see an unbuttoned shirt and a loosened tie underneath it, along with a pair of jeans and sneakers that host a couple of roman-penned doodles. he’s got cocoa’s leash wrapped around one hand, cocoa panting happily at his feet, and he’s holding onto the strap of his backpack with the other.

patton’s moving before he can even think about it; logan drops his backpack to the ground, and patton’s wrapping his son up in the biggest bear hug he can manage.

logan’s done growing now, and is still firmly stuck at _taller than him,_ something that when he thinks about it too much still strikes him as strange and still makes him a little bit emotional. logan smells like the laundry detergent he and virgil bought in bulk for him, and something patton can’t quite pin down, maybe something Inherently Yale, and maybe he’ll _never_ be able to pin it down, but patton crams down the wave of sadness at the idea of him and logan growing apart; _kids grow up, that’s what they’re supposed to do,_ he reminds himself.

still. all of those complicated feelings aren’t quite enough to quell the wave of _my baby’s home, my baby’s home!!!!!!!_ happiness and excitement that’s been building since logan mentioned over phone that he was going to come back to sideshire as soon as his friday class was over.

patton draws back, hands on logan’s shoulders, beaming.

“there’s my college-goin’ boy,” he teases. “how’ve you been, kiddo?!”

logan’s lips twitch up into a smile, and patton feels his heart swell up with fondness at the sight of it.

“good,” he says, then, “i have eaten basically nothing but dining hall pizza for three straight days.”

patton laughs, and claps him on the back. 

“very collegiate,” he quips. “i’ll keep the secret from virge, if you want. i’m assuming you’re probably _not_ going to want pizza, then?”

“like grandma and grandpa will serve us pizza tonight,” he says, adjusting his grip on cocoa’s leash; patton reaches out a hand, and logan hands it over as he picks up his backpack.

“true, true,” he says, and reaches down to pet cocoa, because she’s butting up against his shins in a clear ploy for attention. “i know, yes, you’re a very good girl—well, clearly you’ve been by the house, do you want to hang out here or—?”

“please get him out of here,” michel shouts from the front desk, and patton pivots, holding up the leash. 

“but cocoa is here!” patton says teasingly. “you don’t wanna kick out _cocoa,_ do you?”

cocoa wags her tail at the mention of her name. she _loves_ michel; patton really doesn’t know _why,_ but ever since patton had taken her to work for the first time, back when they were training her as a puppy and didn’t think she’d do well shut up at home all day, she’s always made a beeline straight for michel.

michel, also, is _very much_ a dog person. he watches the westminster dog show religiously each year, and his two chows, paw-paw and chin-chin, probably eat better-quality food than patton’s _parents._ and ever since _he’d_ discovered that cocoa’s part chow, well...

it’s moved him to look at least _tempted_ to take back his continual askings for patton to get out.

“no, that’s okay,” logan says. “i was going to ask if we could stop by the diner, anyway?”

“hungry?” patton guesses, and smiles a bit when logan nods.

“didn’t have time to stop for lunch,” he admits sheepishly, and patton gasps, only a little jokingly.

“oh, well, we _definitely_ have to get you right to virgil, then,” he says. “he’ll get you something nice and healthy and _not_ dining hall pizza—we’re going now!” he calls to michel.

“good riddance,” michel says, perhaps a bit less enthusiastically than he would have if it was just patton and logan, and if cocoa wasn’t part of the deal.

patton’s about to head over to the inn’s parking lot, but logan says, “can we walk?”

“oh! yeah, sure!” he says. “wanna see the town, huh?”

“just—cocoa,” logan says awkwardly, and moves to take back cocoa’s leash. “and it’s, um. nice out today. have you taken your allergy medicine?”

“yes, no sneezing because of pollen from me,” patton says, not to be deterred, “ _and_ you missed the town?”

logan grumbles something, and then moves to check his phone, and patton directs his grin out toward the inn’s grounds.

it’s that sweet point between summer and fall, where all the sweltering heat and humidity has died down, but the fall chill hasn’t quite crept in yet; the leaves and grass are all still green, the sky still a perfect shade of cloudless blue, but there’s a slight breeze that tempers any of the heat of the bright sunshine. 

it _is_ very nice out today.

it’s the perfect backdrop for a walk with his son and his dog; cocoa eagerly plants her nose against the ground and spends most of the walk sniffing every little plant, weed, and patch of grass she can find, while he asks logan all about classes and dorm life and how his first quizzes and papers went; he knows most of this, from their daily phone calls, but it’s still very nice to hear logan say it without the distortion of the phone’s speaker.

it’s probably good that they’re treading old ground, conversation-wise, because people keep stopping them on the sidewalk. 

dot and larry beam at logan and patton. babette and morey stop in the middle of a walk to enthuse over the pair of them. emile’s walking toward remy aserinsky’s café, and clasps his hands together and gushes over them. mrs. torres nearly starts _crying_ at the sight of the pair of them. 

patton guesses people are really happy to have logan back in town? which, like, _fair,_ he doesn’t blame them, not one bit. logan’s the best, and his absence has been keenly felt during all sorts of town activities; mayor porter had even stopped him after the last town meeting, bemused, holding out a paper of pr-perfected answers that always frustrated logan about needing to include, asking where on earth logan was, he’d usually emailed the mayor’s office three times to get these answers.

except the occasional visitor seems like it’s almost _nothing,_ when they approach the main square of town; there’s a veritable _crowd._

patton, bemused, looks around at them: his neighbors, the business-owners in town, even a few of _his_ workers—it’s like half the town has turned out, and patton turns to logan.

“is it a holiday or something?”

“hm?” logan asks, distracted by making sure cocoa doesn’t tangle her leash around a telephone poll.

“it’s just,” patton says, and jerks his chin out toward the crowd. logan seems to catch sight of all of them, and his eyes narrow, just for a moment, before his facial expression smooths back over into indifference.

“it’s not a holiday, to my knowledge,” logan says. “but who knows, with taylor involved?”

patton acknowledges this with a slight laugh. “i bet it’s double-coupon day at the store, or something. i can never keep track of all the promotional deals that he puts on. i haven’t seen any posters for festivals or anything.”

“that’s probably it,” logan agrees, still somehow distracted by cocoa, who has long since freed herself. 

they draw closer to the diner, and his son lets out a laugh, and surges forward, and runs to hug a familiar face, also grinning from ear to ear.

“roman!”

patton watches roman rush forward, wrapping his arms around logan’s waist and picking him up off the ground, spinning him around with the force of his hug, and he can’t help but smile when he hears logan laugh; to patton’s knowledge, this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they went off to school.

“my love!” roman enthuses, setting logan on the ground but keeping his hands wrapped around his waist, “ _mi querido,_ my _beloved,_ oh, i have _missed you—”_

“i’ve missed you too,” logan admits, barely above a whisper, and as patton’s politely averting his eyes from them kissing, that’s when he notices something strange.

the curtains are drawn.

virgil _never_ draws the curtains, not even when they’re closing at night. the last time patton can remember that happening is when they painted the diner, nearly three years ago.

and there’s a _CLOSED FOR BUSINESS, ONLY OPEN FOR DANES, SANDERS’, AND PRINCES_ on the door.

“do you think virgil’s doing something at the diner?” patton asks logan and roman, who have stopped kissing, but they’re holding hands.

“what?” he says.

patton gestures to the curtains.

“oh,” logan says. “maybe you should go in and check.”

“if he’s doing something—”

“he would have deliberated it for months at a time and argued the pros and cons with you,” logan says pointedly. “i barely managed to convince him to re-upholster the seats a couple summers ago, remember?”

patton does. “but still—”

“he specified that it’s open for us, go _check,”_ roman insists, at a pitch barely below a squeal, and so patton slowly opens the door to the cheerful jangle of the bell.

and he’s _overwhelmed_ by yellow.

there are bundles, heaps, _mountains_ of yellow daisies; crowded in every booth, sitting at the center of every table, fighting for space among candles that _definitely_ weren’t there before, clustered around the feet of the table. there’s the biggest daisy chains that patton’s ever _seen,_ ringing the diner’s ceiling, brushing against the pride flags behind the counter, and pots of daisies sitting in every chair, every booth. 

patton pivots slowly, trying to take it all in—daisies bundled up in mugs, daisies twining pillars, bouquets of daisies tucked into every spare surface, every spare nook or cranny, soft instrumental music that patton _definitely_ knows, even if he’s never heard this particular version of it—and he _knows,_ he _knows_ something big is going on here, hovering just at the edge of his brain but refusing to click, and he hears footsteps, turning to see.

virgil’s stepped out of the kitchen, through a clearly designated path from all the daises, there’s _so many daisies,_ and smiles at patton.

“hey,” he says softly.

“hey,” patton breathes out. “what’s—” he struggles for a word, still trying to search for what this _is,_ what the sense of déjà vu is—“all this?”

virgil smiles at him. there’s something nervous, in his face, making his smile a little awkward, and virgil wipes his hands on his jeans. he’s wearing the homemade hoodie, the one virgil wears most often, the one patton loves best, and his dark outfit looks strangely out of place in all this _brightness,_ these florals, all this cheerful yellow.

he has That Look on his face, the soft one, the loving one, that always makes patton feel like he’s melting into a sentimental, happy little puddle of goo.

“so, turns out,” virgil says, “a thousand yellow daisies _sounds_ super impressive, but once i got them all piled in here i decided i needed, like, way more, so i’m pretty sure i’ve bankrupted the east coast out of all the yellow daisies it’s got.”

“i’m sure you did,” patton says breathlessly. 

virgil’s smile quirks at the edges. “you don’t remember?”

“i—”

“i mean, you were pretty specific, but i don’t blame you, it was eighteen years ago,” he says. “and you were kind of preoccupied with a lot of other things, it being logan’s first christmas eve and all the rest of everything going on, back then.”

and then, very suddenly, it _clicks._

_“ but proposals… that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, right? it should be planned. it should be magical... it should be—it should be more. there should be music playing and romantic lighting and a subtle buildup to the popping of the questions. there should be a—a thousand yellow daisies, and candles, and—and more than just an oh, i **guess.”**_

_“oh,”_ patton breathes. all of a sudden, he feels very dizzy, and very warm, and the thoughts in his head could really only be described as the sound a kettle makes when water comes to a boil.

“yeah,” virgil says, “so” and he slowly gets down on one knee. patton is distantly aware of some clicking sounds.

“ _virgil,”_ patton says thickly, vision already blurring with tears, even as virgil smiles up at him, removing a small velvet box from his hoodie’s pocket.

virgil clears his throat, but it doesn’t stop his voice from sounding rough as he begins, “when i first thought about us being married—” 

patton can’t help but let out a choked noise, somewhere between a sob and a laugh of sheer delight. married. _married!!!!!!!!!_

“—i thought that maybe this part would happen like how we’d moved in together; we’d slowly come to the realization, and figure out that we’ve basically been married the whole time, and maybe go off and elope, with the kids in tow. 

“but _then,_ well, i kind of remembered something you said, and i realized i agree. this— _us—_ it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. _you_ are a once-in-a-lifetime thing. you and logan and roman—the family that you’ve helped make and bring me into—that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing, one that i _cherish_ , so so much. you let me into your life, you let me be a parent to your son, _our_ son, and i can’t—i can’t thank you enough. for everything that you’ve done for me. i don’t know who i’d be without you in my life, and i don’t ever want to find out.”

patton sniffles, and hastily reaches his fingers to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, because virgil’s going blurry, and he doesn’t want to miss this. he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

“you deserve the—the big romantic gestures, with the daisies, and the candles, and the music, and wedding with cake and cookies and flowers and dancing and—and _everything_ you want, i’ll try my best to give it to you, because you deserve—” virgil’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat. 

“you deserve everything, anything, that i can give. you deserve the very best in life. you’ve been through so much, and you’re the strongest person i _know,_ and i just—you deserve everything good in life, everything you _want,_ and, for whatever reason, _somehow,_ you’ve chosen that you want _me,_ and—and i’m so grateful for that, for _you,_ every day, and i want to show you that, and i _want_ to give that to you, because i love you.”

“i love you too,” patton manages to squeak out. his cheeks are wet, and aching.

“so,” virgil says, drawing himself up as straight as possible, cracking open the ring box, and patton lets out another sobbing laugh, like he’s so full of joy he can’t help but let it escape his body _somehow,_ “patton thomas sanders. i adore you. i love you more than anything in the world. i—i am not sure how many times i can communicate _i love you,_ i feel like i don’t have _words_ big enough for how i feel about you, but. i want to spend the rest of our lives trying. will you marry me?”

“ _yes,”_ patton bursts out the millisecond the question’s fully out of virgil’s mouth, “oh, my goodness, yes, _yes,_ a thousand- _million_ times yes, _virgil_ —”

virgil breaks into a relieved smile, and he fumblingly removes the ring from the box and catches patton’s hand, his own hand shaking. he holds onto patton’s hand to steady himself—or steady patton, patton thinks he might be shaking too—and carefully slides the ring onto his finger.

it fits perfectly.

patton lets out another sobbing laugh at the sight of it, the ring on his finger, they’re _engaged,_ they’re going to get _married,_ and virgil rises to his feet, smiling the biggest patton’s ever seen him, and—

“ _oh,”_ patton sobs out, and pats down his pockets, even if he knows _full well_ he doesn’t have it. “oh, this is so _silly,_ it would be so much more romantic if i had it on me—”

logan clears his throat.

patton had nearly forgotten he was there, but he whirls, and—

and logan’s smiling, just a little, but his eyes are wet enough that patton can tell he’s emotional over this, too; roman’s clasping his hands to his chest, practically bouncing up and down, clearly just barely holding in every comment he could possibly make.

and logan’s holding a camera in one hand, and the black velvet box that patton’s been hiding in his knitting supplies since logan helped him pick it out in the other.

“ _oh,”_ patton says, beaming. logan _knew,_ logan knew about this, logan knew and he went by the house to get the ring box for him, and patton _loves him,_ so so much, and he leans in and rocks onto his tip-toes to kiss his son on the forehead before he takes the ringbox from him, and spins to present it to virgil, opening it—

and virgil laughs, and this time _he’s_ the one who’s crying, and patton can’t help but laugh, too, opening the box.

“virgil—”

“ _yes,”_ he says immediately, smiling so big, and patton is so _in love with him,_ and patton lets out a messy, sobbing laugh.

"can i _ask_?”

“oh! sorry, sorry—”

“marry me?” and “ _yes”_ leaves virgil’s lips as soon as he asks, and patton manages to slide the ring onto virgil’s finger, and virgil immediately cups patton’s face in his hands and leans down for a kiss.

and cocoa’s barking at their feet, knowing that something’s going on and excited to get in on it, and he can hear the clicking sounds of logan taking pictures, and roman is _hollering_ behind them.

and everything is _perfect._

* * *

virgil feels so jittery with happiness that he thinks he might vibrate to another plane of existence.

patton had scooped up a discarded daisy chain fashioned it into a flower crown that’s nestled in the midst of his curls, and every time he looks at virgil he bursts into delighted laughter, eyes crinkling up with a smile, and he’s _adorable,_ and virgil is so lucky, feeling the urge to reach out and touch patton, just to make sure that it’s all _real._

they’re _engaged._ patton said _yes._ patton had _also been planning on proposing._

virgil thumbs [the ring](https://smhttp-ssl-59078.nexcesscdn.net/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/17f82f742ffe127f42dca9de82fb58b1/1/5/15244a.jpg) on his finger—still new to him, even with the retro look it’s got going for it, still something to get used to, but the metal’s already warm. it’s fairly simple: a gold band with a single diamond inlaid in some kind of silver rectangle, _flush set,_ _‘cause i read that lots of little stones are bad when you work with food, since you don’t wanna get anything lost in the dough and stuff,_ patton had explained, and then he’d bitten his lip and asked _do you like it?_ as if that was even _remotely_ in the realm of possibility, as if virgil could _not_ like the engagement ring that patton got him to _symbolize their commitment to each other for forever._

virgil had tried asking patton the same thing, though, and patton had spun his [gold band](https://www.zalesoutlet.com/productimages/processed/V-18143123_0_800.jpg) around his finger—well, it looked more like two gold bands joined around several small diamonds—and said “you _silly goose,_ of _course_ i love it _”_ so virgil figures that their emotions are the same on this particular subject.

they’re alone, just for a bit; roman and logan had dashed off to get the champagne that roman had apparently badgered his mother into buying for them on his behalf, so they’re sitting together on the floor of the diner, surrounded by their thousands of yellow daisies.

“i just,” virgil says, and fiddles with the ring on his finger, before looking at patton. “we’re _almost married.”_

patton giggles, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “we _are,”_ he agrees.

“i _love_ you,” virgil says, giddy and almost a little helpless, because he couldn’t think to say anything _else,_ he couldn’t think of words _big enough,_ but—but patton knows that. he’d told him.

patton twines his fingers into virgil’s hair, and pulls him in for a kiss.

patton is an _exceptional_ kisser; virgil has known this for years. but apparently, they get _exceptionally_ clumsy when the pair of them are beaming so widely that they can barely even move their lips together, and they keep _trying_ until patton laughs and virgil breathes it in, lightheaded with the _euphoria_ of all of it, and they break apart.

“we’re so happy we can’t even _kiss_ right,” patton howls with laughter, which gets _virgil_ to start laughing, which means the pair of them are cackling like hyenas at each other as the bell jangles, roman calling out “who wants _champaaaagne?!”_

virgil tries to explain, but he catches sight of patton, flower crown gone askew from their kissing attempt, which just sets him off again.

logan sighs “ _dads”_ at them, which makes virgil even _happier,_ which turns to him grinning even wider which means he’s _laughing_ louder, and roman rolls his eyes at logan, grinning, looping an arm through his.

“they’re _happy,”_ roman says.

“overjoyed,” patton offers, grinning.

“elated,” virgil tacks on.

“ecstatic,” a voice says, which is when he notices ms.— _isadora,_ right, she’d told him to call her isadora, but it took a lot to break eighteen years of habit—and he and patton scramble to their feet.

after a pause, logan adds, reluctantly, because he _cannot resist_ a word association game, “jouissant.”

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “ _that’s_ a ten dollar word right there, look at what you’re learning off at college!”

“from the french,” isadora says. she’s holding the champagne bottle awkwardly; virgil had learned on the day after both logan and roman moved to college the amount of times she had drunk alcohol could have been counted on one hand, then, but after _that_ day it was escalated to two. patton moves to take it from her, looking at virgil, clearly about to ask for—

“i don’t have champagne glasses,” virgil realizes.

patton says, “i think mugs’ll work, it’s not like we’re going for _class,_ here.”

virgil acknowledges that with a shrug, and, after checking with isadora, goes to gather five mugs. 

patton’s the one to pop the champagne, and virgil quickly moves to put a mug underneath it to catch anything fizzing over—he _just_ mopped these floors, before all the daisies had come in—and patton splashes a generous amount into it.

they end up splitting the bottle among five mugs, and roman lifts his, clearing his throat.

“to virgil and patton!” he declares. “we have seen this coming since i was _five—”_

patton elbows him jokingly, grinning.

“—and we wish you all the best together,” roman finishes. “ _salut!”_

 _“salut,”_ they all echo, clacking their mugs together in a chaotic rendition of cheers, and patton smiles at up at him.

“aren’t we supposed to link arms or something?” virgil asks him an undertone, and patton’s smile widens.

“save it for the wedding,” he says, in the same undertone, with a sly grin that he barely hides with his sip of champagne, and virgil has to hide the silly grin that springs onto his face with his own sip of the bubbly, sweet champagne.

isadora sips at her mug with all the delicate class that he should have expected, but it’s still kind of funny to watch her lift her pinky and sip demurely out of a gaudy _SIDESHIRE PRIDE PARADE_ branded mug, which has more rainbows on it than possibly anything else virgil owns.

roman breaks off with patton to start making his own daisy chain, and they tug logan to join them, too, so that leaves isadora and virgil standing alone together.

“congratulations,” she offers quietly, and virgil smiles at her.

“thank you,” he says, equally soft, touched.

a pause, and then, “remus would be thrilled.”

theres a prick of bittersweetness near his heart; not nearly enough to puncture the happiness, but enough to twist his smile, just a little bit.

“he’d try to pull a _carrie_ at my wedding,” he says, and isadora smiles. it’s a very nice smile, one that he almost never sees.

“part of the reason he’d be thrilled,” isadora agrees. “still. regardless. he should be here congratulating you.” a pause, a sip of champagne, before she says, “he would be proud of you. as am i.”

virgil swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

remus had, almost always, relentlessly teased him, on the rare occasions he’d had dates as a teenager. _the baby’s growing uuuuup!_ he’d croon, and then proceed to attempt to sabotage him, _“lovingly,”_ with something that virgil could easily undo, but something that would distract him from any mounting anxiety over a date. 

he thinks remus and patton would have eventually gotten along. it would have been a rocky road, to be sure, but. they probably would have bonded over fatherhood, over their sons being friends. maybe because virgil cared deeply about both of them. he’ll never know, though.

“thanks, izzy-dory,” he says.

isadora’s smile has its own bitter quirk to it, at the re-emergence of a nickname that no one but remus had had the bravery to use on her; but, somehow, it isn’t _sad,_ even as they’re remembering their own shared grief.

because she’s right. remus _would_ be thrilled.

* * *

patton feels like he’s filled up with helium and he keeps bursting into peals of laughter at absolutely nothing at all.

virgil had taken over driving, like he usually did when he came to friday night dinners. they’re a bit late, patton’s sure, because when he and virgil were changing into their suits patton kept _giggling,_ because they’re _almost married,_ and then he got distracted by trying to kiss virgil again, so—

so, they’re a _bit_ late, but he got _engaged_ today, _sue him._

virgil’s holding his hand, the other one on the steering wheel.

“i wonder how they’re gonna react,” patton muses, because, well, it shouldn’t exactly be a _surprise,_ they moved in together a while ago and patton’s been pretty gosh-darn clear that virgil’s gonna be the one he’s spending the rest of his life with. he _really_ hopes they aren’t gonna be too... well. _them_ about it.

virgil says, “i _did_ ask your dad about a family ring, a while ago—”

“oh, _shoot,”_ patton says, turning to face him. “i totally didn’t think to do that!”

“essie got the family ring,” virgil says reassuringly, “so you didn’t miss anything, there isn’t a male family ring, as far as i know, but—but they had some forewarning, at least.”

“well, good,” patton says decisively. “they’re gonna be _happy_ about this, okay? they’re gonna pop open some cristal and say _congratulations_ and they are gonna _like_ it.”

“that’s the spirit,” logan says dryly from the backseat.

“that it _is,”_ patton says, and squeezes virgil’s hand. “anyway, _logan,_ you’re home! do you have anything you wanna do over the weekend?”

logan considers this, before he says, “virgil told me he was planning _this_ for this weekend, so—”

patton turns slightly. “you did?”

virgil shrugs. “i knew you’d want lo to be there.”

patton beams, and presses a kiss to virgil’s knuckles. 

“roman was planning on something tomorrow with all of us,” logan continues, “but otherwise—i think the regular things. the bookstore, the press, the diner.”

“roman’s planning something, huh?” virgil says warily.

logan smiles and doesn’t say anything else. virgil grumbles to himself.

“he’s a journalist, he knows how to keep secrets,” patton says, and, teasingly, “especially if they’re from his _boyyyy-frieeeeend.”_

logan mumbles something under his breath, turning ever-so-slightly red, and patton grins.

they end up plotting out a loose plan for logan’s weekend: a shopping spree of all the latest books at the bookstore, topping up any school supplies logan might have forgotten at home, doing the laundry logan had hauled back from yale, an investigation of the library’s most recent shipment, hanging out with roman, and _lots_ of diner food.

they pull up to the sanders’ house, and patton takes a deep breath, squeezing virgil’s hand one last time before he gets out of the car.

as soon as he walks closer, virgil immediately laces their fingers back together, squeezing.

“if you want, if they end up turning on us, we can go,” he says, in a low voice. “this day’s for us, right?”

“right,” patton says, and lets out his breath. “and who even says that they’ll react bad anyway?”

virgil doesn’t answer that—probably a good choice on his part, since he’s most likely already overthinking and patton is nervous enough—and logan knocks on the door.

his mother opens it.

“finally, you’re here,” she says, and they file in after her.

“sorry we’re late,” patton says, smiling, “we got a bit held up.”

she sighs. “well, nothing to do to fix it, then—come in, come on, would you like a drink?”

“um,” patton says, “ _well—”_

 _“now?”_ virgil says in an undertone.

they enter the living room, where his dad’s already fixing himself a scotch at the drinks table.

“why not?” patton says, equally quiet; _if we don’t, they’ll be upset we didn’t say right away,_ patton tries to communicate with his eyes, and virgil seems to understand, squeezing his hand.

“hello, logan,” his dad says, turning. “how’s yale?”

“busy,” logan says. 

“hey, dad, why don’t you come over and sit down?” patton offers. “we, um, we have some news.”

richard and emily exchange a glance, before they sit on the couch together.

“what?” his mother says, turning to face them.

“it’s, um,” patton says, and makes the mistake of looking over at virgil, who is giving him That Look which makes his heart burst into butterflies and he can’t help but giggle, “ _well—”_

“we, um,” virgil says, trying to help, but _he_ can’t help smiling, too, and patton covers their held hands with his own—hiding his ring from view, coincidentally.

“oh, my _god,_ you _didn’t_ ,” his mother says, aghast.

patton blinks, and virgil squeezes his hands harder. “didn’t what?”

“oh, my god, you _did,”_ she says, a look of horror blooming across her face.

“now, emily—” richard says.

“you _eloped!”_ his mother fumes, slamming his hands on the couch cushion and standing, and patton yelps out “ _mom!”_

“i _knew_ it, i knew you’d do anything to keep me out of your wedding!” she rants. 

“mom, that’s not—”

“well, that is just _cruel,_ patton,” she continues, overriding his attempt to intervene, moving to begin to pace, “a mother waits and plans for this day, even _your_ mother, and tonight you just _waltz_ in here—”

“we’re _engaged,”_ patton bursts out. “we didn’t _elope,_ i mean—well, we’re _going_ to get married. in the _future._ since we’re _fiancés_ now.”

his mother stops in her tracks.

“oh.”

she slowly sinks down to the couch.

“mom...?” he prompts, because he can’t really interpret the look on her face right now.

“who proposed?” she says.

“ _i_ proposed, but he had a ring too,” virgil says.

“it was very romantic,” patton says, and he can’t help but smile at virgil, all soft and silly. 

“i was there, it’s true, he was very romantic,” logan confirms.

“oh,” richard says, attempting to blink off whatever whiplash must come from expecting your son to have eloped only to figure out he’s gone about the thing properly, for once. “well, congratu—”

“when’s the date?”

“oh,” patton says, caught off guard, and looks at virgil. “um—”

“the venue, the florist, the registry?”

“we got engaged _today,_ mom,” patton tries to point out.

“i know that in a million years, you would never let me plan your wedding,” his mother starts, sounding a little wistful, and oh, _no._

“um, _mom_ —” patton begins, because. well, he’d expected the “differing social classes,” protest, he’d expected the “he’s not well-educated enough” protest, he’d expected, maybe, the “we revoke every little thing we’ve done to signify approval,” protest, or maybe even “we will start openly attempting to sabotage your relationship now.”

he hadn’t expected the mother-of-the-groom version of _bridezilla._ _mother-in-law-zilla,_ maybe?

“i gave up on that dream a long time ago,” his mother continues, putting on the full, _oh, what could have been, i miss that dream so_ face. _emotional manipulation, emotional manipulation,_ he chants to himself, trying his best to summon emile’s voice. “yours was going to be a russian winter theme—the romanovs.”

huh. that sounds strangely familiar, but patton can't put a finger on it; his brain’s been doing that a lot today.

“before the firing squad or after?” logan asks, in a blank, studious tone that only barely masks the sarcasm, and virgil just barely manages to stifle his snort. patton elbows him in the side.

“snow white roses, trees with white lights and candles, snow everywhere—”

_oh, well, that doesn’t sound too—_

“—you arriving in a silver sleigh with white horses...”

_aaaaaaaand there it is._

_“wow,”_ patton manages to get out, and she deflates.

“you hate the idea.”

“no, it just—” patton says, and struggles with how to put this delicately. “it doesn’t seem very... _us,_ mom.”

“yes, well, it would have been beautiful,” she sniffs. “what will it be now? burgers and fries for the dinner? you walking down the aisle with a ketchup dispenser in hand?”

“ _hey,”_ patton says, a little sterner. 

“i dunno, pat, a diner wedding could be cool,” virgil says jokingly.

“what do _you_ think of the romanovs?” his mother says, giving virgil her most withering stare.

“they probably had it coming,” he says, stone-faced, and patton elbows him again, a little harder.

“ _happy_ day,” patton says, and looks at his mother. “let’s celebrate the engagement _now,_ and leave all the wedding planning for _later.”_

frankly, it had probably been kind of naive to assume that his mother _wouldn’t_ try his best to butt her way into wedding planning; she had gone into raptures about the potential of his debutante gowns and future outfits enough when he was younger to _ohhhh he’d forgotten about the wedding talks. that’s_ where he’d heard all the talk about the romanovs.

well. at least it isn’t a _bad_ reaction, he figures.

“yes, yes,” richard says. “ah—champagne?”

“yes!” patton says eagerly, ready to get past his mother attempting to worm her way into wedding planning. “yes, let’s—let’s do champagne!”

“elsa!” his mother calls, then, undeterred, “you know, it’s tradition for parents to help pay and plan for the wedding, and if we could just get in touch with your aunt celine, i bet most of your father’s side of the family—”

“ _small_ wedding, mom,” patton says, “we’re probably going to want a _small_ wedding.”

he glances at virgil. “right?” he checks.

“yes, small wedding, absolutely,” he confirms. “my family, your family, the town—”

“the _town_ constitutes a _small wedding,”_ his mother says, doubtfully.

“we were talking about champagne!” patton says quickly, as elsa comes into the room. “um, elsa, can i go help you find champagne flutes, preferably until my mother exhausts this topic of conversation?”

“you’re doomed,” logan says, and patton tries his best to glare at him.

he can’t really manage it, though. 

because, well. he can’t really _blame_ his mom. _he’s_ very excited about his wedding, too.

patton decides to take this as a win, even if he knows he’s going to spend the rest of his evening trying to dissuade his mother from throwing money at their wedding.

* * *

“okay, spin, twirl,” roman says.

virgil sighs, but does so, awkwardly; he’s wearing a purple flannel and a pair of black jeans, very regular for him. like, not very _fashionably forward_ of him, but very _regular._ roman surveys him, squinting.

“since when do you need to do outfit approval for an outing?” virgil grumbles.

“since always,” roman says happily, before he smooths his hands over virgil’s shoulders; he _supposes_ the whole thing is semi-formal—he’s wearing a white top tucked into a red skater skirt, which he _guesses_ passes for cute but semi-casual. “okay, _but,_ hang on, what _if—”_

“how many times have i told you i don’t want a makeover,” virgil says wearily.

“and how many times have i listened?” roman says. “it’s not even that much, anyway, just—” 

he digs out a jacket that pairs well with it, a black one, one that at least takes virgil’s outfit to _i threw it on_ to _i at least attempted to plan,_ which virgil shrugs on with a sigh, and roman immediately sticks his fingers in virgil’s hair.

“ _hey—”_

“i’m not even doing that _much,”_ roman says, correcting virgil’s bangs, before stepping back. “okay, _now_ you’re set.”

“finally,” virgil grumbles. “why don’t you do this to patton and logan?”

“because patton is very set on his sense of dad-fashion and logan at least has _some_ kind of officious-looking thing going for him,” roman says. “ _you_ are just helplessly grunge.”

virgil rolls his eyes, but gestures for roman to go ahead. roman skips down the stairs, catching logan’s hand, because they’re _together,_ in the same space, where roman can _touch_ him and not just see his face over grainy video call.

“hi,” roman says, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “ready to go?”

logan smiles at him; unlike patton and virgil, _he_ knows exactly what’s going on.

“we all are,” logan confirms. 

“right!” patton says brightly. “what’d you have in mind, kiddo?”

“you’ll see,” roman says, instead of stating an _elaborately_ crafted cover story he’s sure he could come up with on the spot—virgil not knowing what’s going on means he won’t be _super_ surprised when roman leads him to, well. the _thing._

he keeps a tight hold on logan’s hand as they walk, swinging it between them. they hadn’t really gotten to spend a lot of time together yesterday, with the engagement and logan’s grandparents and all, so roman is _absolutely_ planning on capitalizing on logan time when everyone else is occupied. 

it’s an easy walk, from patton’s house to town; the weather’s still _really_ nice, and the breeze feels nice on his legs, and logan’s hand is cool in his, and the closest thing he has to dads are behind them, trying to be _subtle_ about their reinvigorated lovebird honeymoon phase but failing miserably.

roman squeezes logan’s hand. “so, my big yale man—”

“nickname denied,” logan says.

“all right, eli- _logan—”_

“slightly better,” logan says, then, “wait, you researched yale nicknames?”

“of course i did, that’s four years worth of new material there,” roman says. “so, _anyway,_ i have _news_ for you.”

“news?” logan says, startled.

“um, _yeah,”_ roman says. “i asked my mom and caught up on _all_ the taylor gossip, i bet you could write an exposé over thanksgiving break. so, i’ve got common knowledge, and town meeting stuff, and apparently my mom’s got some info for you, so i managed to get her to tell me _that_ so you know everything before everyone else—”

a little smile breaks out on logan’s face, and he leans in to press a kiss to roman’s cheek.

roman blinks at him, but smiles. “what was that for?”

“just,” logan says, and he smiles wider. “you look very pretty today.”

roman preens; he _did_ put extra effort into his hair, and he’s wearing a bit of makeup, a fun little glitter look on his eyes, and he usually wears skirts on special occasions, he used to wear them more when he was a kid; he borrowed this one from charlotte.

this skirt _would_ be pretty short on him, if it weren’t for the fact this skirt is too big for _her._ most ballet women are _tiny;_ charlotte’s 5′5″, and she’s the _tallest_ of his new friends. 

“well,” roman says, and preens even more obviously, so that logan will laugh. “ _obviously.”_

logan’s laugh buoys him all the way to the point where they’re nearly to the town square, and he can hear the rush of noise, and music.

“what’s going on?” patton says curiously.

“well,” roman says slyly, and moves aside. “go and _see.”_

patton breaks into a smile, probably remembering the _last_ time that roman told him to go see something.

“roman,” virgil starts, and they turn just in time to see.

the town square’s decked out with all the yellow daisies that virgil had used to propose, and a banner that says _PATTON AND VIRGIL’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY,_ and the gazebo’s twined with blue and purple ribbons and there’s stacks of presents, andthere’s a cheer that comes from people gathered: his mom, and a ton of girls who go to the dance studio, and mrs. torres, and emile and remy, and dot and larry, and babette and morey, and even _taylor,_ all here for—

“what’s all this?” patton says, delighted.

“ _well,”_ roman says. “since i’m a poor college student and couldn’t exactly _afford_ an elaborate engagement present, i figured i’d do the next best thing and _give_ you an engagement party.”

“ _roman,”_ virgil says.

“i—i made it so that there’s music, and dancing, and food and stuff,” roman says, gesturing vaguely, “so even if it’s a party for _you,_ the attention won’t _always_ be on you, since i know how you feel about—”

he gets cut off, though, because virgil cuffs him gently around the head and pulls him in for a sidehug.

“you’re a good kid, roman,” he says, gruffly, and roman can’t help but smile. he feels like his heart is glowing, from the happy look on patton’s face, to the outward expression of fondness from virgil, to the way logan’s looking at him all _proud_ like he’s doing something super special.

“well, _duh,”_ roman says, like he _isn’t_ grinning so big that he’s sure it’s messing up his makeup. “go on, go, it’s time for the party!”

and so virgil goes to patton, who takes his hand and drags him straight for the throne-like chairs that are set up for them to start opening their presents, and logan bumps up against his shoulder.

“i still can’t believe you did this,” he says quietly; they’ve been facetiming a lot so logan could help plan it, so it’s not like this party is _news_ to him.

roman shrugs, and leans into logan’s side in a blatant ploy; logan obliges him, and wraps an arm around roman’s shoulders.

“well,” he says. “they’re important to me, too. i wanted to do something special.”

logan presses a kiss to his temple, and says, “wanna get some cake?”

“hell yeah,” roman says, and so they go and get in line to get some cake.

* * *

the sun has set, there are twinkling lights on, the music is playing, the party is still going fairly strong, and logan sways to the music.

this mostly has to do with _roman_ dragging him out to dance, and he’s obliged, mostly because of how happy it makes roman, how excited he gets, how beautiful he looks.

roman’s hair is sweaty and has long since become a bit more of a wreck than it _originally_ was. the glitter around his eyes has smeared a little, and his sweat catches the light, making him gleam and glow in a way that is _unfairly_ attractive, for his version of being a sweaty mess.

he’s never, ever going to be as good a dancer as roman—for one, he hasn’t been training for nearly fifteen years—but he’s perfectly content to dance with hm, so long as he can see roman look _this_ great, be _this_ happy.

the song ends, and roman whoops, putting his hands up in the air, before he fans at his face.

“want a breather?”

“yes,” logan says gratefully. he runs fairly frequently, but he also isn’t _nearly_ as in shape with roman (again, training for nearly _fifteen years)_ and his feet ache.

roman grins at him, grabbing his hand so that he could drag logan out of the crowd, and logan follows along, trusting roman’s sense of direction in a crowd far better than his own.

they pop out somewhere near the beverage table, and logan spies, somewhere deeper in the crowd, his dad trying to twirl virgil around and virgil awkwardly ducking his arm, to gales of laughter from his dad.

“they’re happy,” logan notes.

“yeah,” roman says. then, “do you think sookie’ll kill me if i steal this bottle of champagne for us?”

logan glances over at roman, who’s grinning, and holding up a recently-opened and not-very-depleted bottle of champagne.

“it’ll be worth it,” logan decides, and roman giggles, before taking logan by the hand again, dragging him to the exact place that logan expected.

they settle on the steps of the gazebo, stretching out their legs and beholding the crowd. roman sighs, pleased, and logan tries his best not to stare at roman’s tanned thighs and the way they look in that skirt.

he has been doing that _quite_ a bit today.

“champagne, my good sir?” roman says, mockingly officious, and logan blinks.

“we forgot to grab glasses.”

“well,” roman says, and takes a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to logan. “i’m _pretty_ sure you don’t have cooties, and if we do, we’ve definitely cross-infected each other by now.”

“well, who knows what kind of super-cooties you could have picked up in new york,” logan says, and tries his own swig; he’s less practiced than roman, and he gets a near-painful mouthful of fizz and bubbles that makes him cough, just a little.

“a joke!” roman says, thumping him gently on the back. “college really _has_ taught you things.”

logan rolls his eyes, and bumps his shoulder against roman’s.

they technically both got drunk for the first time at the same time; patton had offered his house for it— _you’ll both probably get offered to drink at college, and i want you to try it somewhere where you know you’re safe just in case, all right?_ patton had said, and so they’d drank candy-flavored drinks in glass bottles and roman had tried to experiment with bartending and they’d kissed a little but logan’s pretty sure that he’d fallen asleep in the middle of it, because the next thing he remembered was waking up with a dry mouth, draped over roman, on the floor of the living room.

he hasn’t drunk very much since; unsurprisingly, roman likes parties more than logan does.

they swap the bottle back and forth in mostly companionable silence, watching the party go on; patton and virgil get champagne flutes clanged at them a few times, making them lean in and kiss each other to cheers from the crowd; the music rumbles on, and roman dances in place, singing along quietly; they watch emile and remy dance, and kirk’s bizarre arm-flailing that might pass as dancing.

logan feels warm, and pleasant, and a little floaty, and he turns to rest his head on roman’s shoulder.

“this is nice,” he says.

“yeah?” roman says, amused.

“i—this is _really_ nice,” he says earnestly, and roman snorts, adjusting so that he can cup logan’s chin in his hand and examine his face.

“are you tipsy?”

“moderately, i think,” logan admits, and roman throws back his head to laugh, before cupping logan’s face in both his hands.

“you’re adorable,” roman teases, and he leans in to kiss him.

logan hums happily into his mouth, leaning into it as much as he can. he’s _missed_ this; he’s missed _him,_ so bad. this is his first time living away from roman, his first time not _going_ to school with roman there, to talk to him at the press or for logan to steal into the studio to watch roman dance. it’s been harder than he thought it would, to be away from him. from home.

but he’s _here_ now, and he’s so _happy,_ and he feels so warm inside.

his dads are getting _married,_ and roman is right here, kissing him, and logan parts from him with a dreamy little sigh.

“i love you so much,” logan tells him, and roman’s face goes soft.

“well, i love you so much too, bulldog-an,” roman says, and brushes some of logan’s sweaty hair out of his face, ignoring the face logan made at the highly questionable _bulldog logan_ pun. “like, _so_ much.”

“oh,” logan says, relieved, “good,” and roman laughs, but not in a mean way, not at all.

“you’re a peach, baby,” roman says, and logan rests his head on roman’s shoulder.

the party’s still going; it’s a slow song playing, and his dads are dancing slowly, eyes closed, completely in their own little world.

“you know,” logan says thoughtfully, “when i propose to you, i wouldn’t mind something like this for us. i think that’d be nice.” 

roman laughs, a little nervous, and he says, “what?”

“when i propose to you,” logan repeats. “or when you propose to me, i guess. however. i don’t care which way. but a party like this, then, it’d be pretty—mmph,” because roman’s pressed his lips against logan’s, hushing him.

and _oh,_ logan has missed kissing like _this;_ feeling like he was _melting_ into it, hyperaware of every swipe of roman’s tongue and promising hint of the scrape of teeth and the taste of champagne on both of their tongues, roman’s hand a warm presence he can feel burning through his shirt that’s inching lower and lower, and logan twists his fingers in roman’s shirt in kind, dropping down to squeeze at roman’s bare thigh—

“this _skirt,”_ he growls, “has been _distracting me_ all _day.”_

 _“yeah,_ i _know,”_ roman says, pleased, wiggling into the touch, flexing his muscles on _purpose,_ “that was the _goal”_ and how could logan _not_ lean in to kiss him even more at that, spreading his hand as wide as he could to feel as much of roman’s soft skin as he could, kissing him heated and quick and _desperate,_ and—

and there was the clanging of champagne flutes starting again, someone hooting and hollering, and roman and logan broke apart.

well. logan kept a possessive hand on roman’s thigh. because feeling up roman’s muscles was just _very nice._

“we should probably get back to the party,” roman breathes, and he’s still close enough that logan can feel the breath on his face.

“i—yeah,” logan says. “we probably should.”

roman laughs, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “i’ll get you some water first, though. stay put, okay?”

“okay,” logan agrees, leaning back; well, as much as he _can_ lean back, when he’s sitting on stairs.

roman giggles, and walks off, with more swaying to his hips than he usually would, looking over his shoulder to give logan an ostentatious, saucy wink.

logan can’t help but burst into a smile.

_i’m going to marry that man._

* * *

"wait! wait, wait, wait, wait,” virgil says, frowning, wrapping his hand around patton’s wrist to keep him from going into the house, and patton bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

listen. patton _knows_ he’s a lightweight. he usually _plans_ for these kinds of things, so that he doesn’t end up drunk off his butt from what would usually get other people teetering their way from tipsy into drunk.

with that, it follows that he’s been around virgil drunk more than virgil has been drunk around _him._

but the champagne had been flowing, and everyone had been eager to fill up the newly... affianced? newly fiancéd? the _engaged couple’s_ drinks throughout the entire party.

and as such, virgil is frowning, almost over-exaggerated, clearly going through some kind of calculation that _must_ make sense in his drunk brain.

“i gotta do the,” virgil says, and vaguely mimes something. “the carry-you-over thing.”

it clicks in patton’s brain, then.

“you want to carry me over the threshold?” he asks, amused. “honey, that’s what _newlyweds_ do. people do that when they get _married.”_

“we’re basically _almost_ married,” virgil argues, and patton tilts his head, considering this.

look, _he’s_ not sober either, okay?

“all right,” patton agrees with a laugh, holding out his arms. “carry me over the threshold, darlin’.’

virgil beams at him and, carefully, gets into place.

“ready?” he asks, and, when patton nods, lifts him with a small grunt, and patton squeaks as his feet leave the ground, wrapping his arms tight around virgil’s neck.

virgil slowly ascends the porch stairs, patton beaming at him, until virgil comes to a pause.

“what?” patton asks.

“the door,” virgil says.

“oh, i can get—”

“i’m not putting you _down,”_ virgil says, as if offended by this potential slight to his ability as a good fiancé, and scowls at the door, as if he’ll be able to open it with telekinesis. 

“no, _virge,_ i mean—” patton says, with a laugh, then, “hang onto me tighter?”

virgil obliges, and patton reaches over, twisting the doorknob.

“there,” he says, satisfied.

virgil leans ever so slightly to smack a kiss of gratitude to patton’s cheek, before stepping carefully over the threshold, making sure that patton doesn’t bump his feet or his head against the doorframe.

and patton expects that to be it, for virgil to set him down right there, except he _keeps going,_ ignoring cocoa barking excitedly at their feet.

 _“virgil!”_ he squeaks.

“night, logan!” virgil calls to logan, who calls out a cheerful “night!” and moves past them, clicking his tongue for cocoa to follow him, for her to go out one last time before bed.

and virgil keeps _going_ , moving up the stairs much more slowly than they _usually_ would, a combination of the pair of them being tipsy and giggly, and virgil climbing the stairs with patton in his arms.

the door’s slightly ajar, and so virgil turns to bump it open with his hip, and carries patton across _that_ threshold, too, and, at last, deposits patton on the bed, patton bouncing ever so slightly with his landing, bursting into laughter.

virgil immediately looms over him, crawling above him, and patton giggles at the sight of him, moving to cradle his cheeks in his hands. 

“my big strong man,” patton purrs, “you’re such an _amazing_ almost-husband—”

virgil dips and immediately moves to _devour_ patton, and patton gasps into his mouth, snaking his arms around virgil’s waist. virgil bumps noses with him, and patton laughs, adjusting, before he surges up and kisses him again, and he feels so _excited,_ all of the energy of the party resurging and making his blood heat and patton presses himself closer and nips at his lips and _kisses_ him, and virgil gasps into his mouth, and—

“you’re drunk,” patton groans, and virgil sighs, resting his head on patton’s collarbone.

“but _kissing,”_ he whines into patton’s chest. “and— _other things.”_

patton snorts, nudging virgil so he rolls off of him, and he does so easily, with no resistance.

“you’ve had to tell me to not get too eager when i’m drunk,” patton says, “and now i’m telling you.”

virgil pouts, and it is _awfully_ difficult to not just dive right back in and kiss him, when he’s all rosy-cheeked, and he’s got kiss-swollen lips. 

“nope,” patton says, and swipes a kiss across his cheek. “payback for that one time after my final final exams.”

“you were _drunk,”_ virgil protests.

“and so are you!” patton says, laughing. 

virgil lets out a long, weary sigh, and grumbles, “ _fine,”_ rolling away from patton.

“aw, _lovely_ ,” patton says, and puts his hand on virgil’s side, shaking him a little to get his attention. virgil pretends to mope—or maybe it’s _not_ pretend, virgil can be a sulky drunk, and he usually is, until patton draws him out of whatever corner he decided to brood in, and then he gets all blushy whenever patton kisses him on the cheek or gives him gestures of affection or pays attention to him, generally—“hey, _honey,_ we can still _cuddle,_ n’stuff.”

virgil visibly perks up at that. he rolls back over.

“yeah?” he says hopefully.

“ _yeah,”_ patton says, “of _course_ we can cuddle _,_ just—we should get ready for bed, first, and then we can cuddle all you _want_.”

“mkay,” virgil says, and steals one last kiss before he ambles away to go brush his teeth, even as patton squawks after him, because _that’s cheating,_ they aren’t supposed to kiss and stuff when they’re _drunk,_ those are _virgil’s rules_ _!!!_

patton ends up butting up against him in the bathroom, bumping his hip against his, and they brush their teeth together, making funny faces at each other in the mirror. 

they tumble into bed together, patton letting out a relieved groan.

“the party was _very_ fun,” he sighs. “but i am _very_ tired.”

“seconded,” virgil groans, wrapping an arm over patton gracelessly; it’s like he wants to touch as much of patton as possible, hug him as close as he could, and patton smiles, burrowing closer.

a beat, then, “okay, i know that _i’m_ the one who said we should follow the rules, but—”

“mm-mm,” virgil grunts, and patton sighs.

“yeah, i figured.”

“well,” virgil says, after a beat. “look at it this way. we’ve got the rest of _forever_ to kiss and stuff before bed.”

patton hides his grin at the thought of _that_ in virgil’s chest; he knows their rings are resting side-by-side on their nightstand table, their symbol of their commitment for the rest of time.

virgil’s right. they _do_ have forever.

and that sounds just about perfect to him.


End file.
